


Under the Christmas Tree

by Guanin



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Asexual Character, Christmas, Cuddles, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, relationship troubles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-07 08:51:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8791285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guanin/pseuds/Guanin
Summary: A note awaited Oswald when he returned home from work, taped to the banister in the foyer. Come to the ballroom, it read in Jim’s hand. Oswald frowned at the paper, unsettled by flashes of memory from the disagreement that they’d had the night before, which had escalated into a full on row, the boiling over of months of only paying lip service to the divisiveness of their differing philosophies on crime and law and morality.





	

A note awaited Oswald when he returned home from work, taped to the banister in the foyer. 

_Come to the ballroom_ , it read in Jim’s hand. 

Oswald frowned at the paper, unsettled by flashes of memory from the disagreement that they’d had the night before, which had escalated into a full on row, the boiling over of months of only paying lip service to the divisiveness of their differing philosophies on crime and law and morality. Things might have been easier if Jim hadn’t returned to the GCPD, but Oswald doubted it. Jim was a cop even when he didn’t wear the badge. Thankfully for them (else there would be no “them”), not the most scrupulous one, but he did have limits, lines he begrudged crossing, even by association, which included his boyfriend conducting business exactly as any mob boss would see fit. They had both known what they were getting into, what difficulties melding their often contradictory lives together would entail, but they had ignored the warning bells, had sought to keep each other for each other and not fuss with the details of what either of them did beyond these doors. For Jim’s comfort, Oswald didn’t even conduct business at the house, having acquired one in the city just for that purpose. 

But Jim’s latest case had run across the murder of a rival that couldn’t have been avoided. The man had pushed the issue, refusing to acknowledge Oswald’s legitimacy as the head of Gotham’s crime families. Oswald had no choice but to take action. Jim had deduced his involvement and asked him about it at dinner, leaving Oswald with three options: lie, which they had sworn never to do, tell Jim that he couldn’t answer his question (which they had deemed acceptable for cases such as these), or tell him the truth. Foolish in his hope that Jim would see the bigger picture, Oswald had chosen the third option. He couldn’t imperiously tell Jim to drop the case without revealing why. Jim would resent such a demand, and he would be right to do so, for they had promised not to interfere in each other’s work. And pleading ignorance never worked with Jim. Jim would have sniffed out the lie immediately. And Oswald couldn’t do that. It would undermine the trust that they had built these last, precious months, chipping the first crack into the foundation of their relationship, dooming it to crumble at any moment. Yet the fight that had ensued from Oswald’s honesty had done more than chip. It sent a spider web of fissures cutting through the fragile balance of their relationship, upsetting it to painfully that Oswald feared that they might not be able to set it right again. Jim had slept in a spare bedroom while Oswald stewed in their own, staring blearily at the ceiling in a restless insomnia. They hadn’t spoken in the whole day, both busy with their respective professions. Oswald had taken off early, anxious to rectify things with Jim. They had managed to be happy for this long. He wouldn’t let things end like this just because someone (who he’d had very firm “words” with) couldn’t do a proper cleanup job. 

But if Jim truly wanted to leave... If he wasn’t comfortable ignoring Oswald’s crimes anymore... His throat constricted sharply at the thought of watching Jim pack up his bags and walk out that door.

Oswald read the note a third time. It possessed a light-hearted quality with its suggestion of a surprise if Oswald followed its instructions. Not the tone one would expect from someone who was determined on breaking things off. He followed the note’s instructions and headed straight to the ballroom. The doors were shut. He pushed one open, staring as he beheld why they had been so. In front of the fireplace, Jim, wearing an appealing black tank top, lied on a makeshift bed constructed from a low-sitting cot, cushions, and blankets, all red and green, the colors of the season, perfectly matching the stockings hanging over the mantelpiece behind him. Smiling, Jim propped his head up on one hand, pulling back the covers beside him invitingly. Oswald had expected the next expression that he saw on Jim’s face to be displeasure or disappointment or self-recrimination, not a smile. 

“Hi,” Jim said. “I was hoping you’d be home soon.”

“Hi,” Oswald replied breathlessly, quickly shutting the door behind him. “We finished early. I thought you’d still be mad at me.”

Jim lowered his eyes for a moment, the smile fading into mild self-reproach.

“About that, I may have overreacted a little.”

“No, you didn’t. I knew you couldn’t possibly be happy about that.”

“And I knew what I was getting into when we started this. Can you come here?” He patted the cot beside him. “Please? I was kinda hoping I could get you into bed before discussing this.”

More like getting into bed in lieu of discussing anything, which was their usual modus operandi. But they were two days away from Christmas and he didn’t want to occasion anything that led to him spending what should be a festive holiday alone in an empty house crying himself to sleep, which would surely happen if Jim decided that their relationship was too much of a contradiction to put up with. And as if he would say no to curling up with Jim in front of the fireplace. 

“I brought down some pajamas for you,” Jim continued as Oswald approached, pointing to the armchair to the left of him. 

Oswald’s favorite forest green, silk pajamas sat on the cushion. A smile blossomed on his face, relief lightening his tense muscles. Not completely, but perhaps things would be okay.

“Thank you,” he said, removing his jacket. “Give me a second.”

“Sure.”

Jim laid his head on one of the cushions, closing his eyes. They were accustomed to changing in front of each other, but Oswald still wasn’t comfortable with being stared at while undressing. Once the soft silk covered his body, he kneeled into the cot, which was surprisingly plush and soft, and stretched out beside Jim. He pulled on the fleece blankets, for the cozy heat of the flames and Jim’s body wasn’t enough to keep away the slight chill in the room. It was always a challenge to heat this cavernous space when it was only the two of them. 

“Is this a giant dog bed?” he asked, feeling the raised borders.

“Uh, yeah. It does the trick.”

“I’m not complaining. It’s pretty comfortable.”

Jim pushed a couple of cushions under his head. Oswald only just then noticed a tiny Christmas tree at the foot of the cot, adorned with brightly colored gift adornments and a bright star on top, white lights twinkling every other second.

“What’s with the tree?” he asked as Jim slipped an arm around his waist.

“Oh. Well, my original idea was to put the cot under the tree.” They both glanced at the huge tree on the opposite side of the room, decorated from head to toe with glass, tear-drop ornaments they’d found in the attic and ice blue lights. “But it didn’t make sense to not be next to the fireplace, so I relocated, but I wanted to keep the original idea, so…”

“Are you meant to be my Christmas present?”

Oswald hugged Jim to him, rubbing his lower back.

“Yeah.”

Jim smiled softly, brushing a stray bang out of Oswald’s eyes. 

“I don’t like how we left things last night,” he continued. “I don’t want you to think that I’m leaving you.”

“I didn’t really think that.”

“Yeah, you did. I would have.”

“Well. Maybe for a moment. It was…” Oswald glanced away. “It was bad.”

Oswald sought out Jim’s right hand, which lied between them, threading their fingers together. 

“I know,” Jim murmured. “I’m sorry.”

Jim stroked Oswald’s knuckles with the tips of his fingers. 

“It’s not your fault. I did promise not to interfere with your work.”

“And I promised not to interfere with yours. I should have just let it be when I realized it was you.”

“No, you needed to be sure. You’d have felt responsible if it had been unrelated and you hadn’t followed through with it. And I think that it was naïve of us to hope that such a situation would never happen. We’ve been lucky so far.”

Jim gazed at him with tired eyes. Oswald had to force himself not to duck his head under Jim’s chin and avoid this conversation all together. 

“Then we need to readjust our expectations. Acknowledge what’s happening.”

“All the time? Are you sure?”

“Maybe not all of it, but… I know I’m not innocent. I’m sorry for fighting you on that.”

Oswald had pointed out the hypocrisy of Jim criticizing Oswald so strongly for a work murder when he had committed a couple of those himself. And roughed up criminals when his temper got the better of him or because it was easier or because he just plain liked it. But he resisted so hard in seeing himself sometimes, good man that he endeavored to be, striving always for that one definition of goodness taken from a fairy tale that didn’t apply or exist in the man that Oswald held in his arms. Reaching for it with such agonizing desperation might make him noble and admirable and even pitiable, but he was slipping off the cliff into a no-man’s land where grey didn’t exist and only monoliths of black and white split him in two, the darkness and the light yanking him in a tortuous tug of war that would never resolve itself if Jim continued to only glance at pieces of himself and not his whole being. There were times when Oswald thought that he did see it, like now, but it never lasted. Either anger pushed him toward Oswald’s darkness or guilt and shame pulled him away, but even then, when he espoused ideals that would make Oswald’s endeavors despised, Oswald still loved him for it. He had fallen for an impossible man with a war raging inside him, as fierce and never-ending as the hurricane on Jupiter, and he didn’t regret a moment of it. 

Well, some moments. 

The push and pull might resolve itself closer to the side of good, too far opposite Oswald to make a relationship with him bearable. Oswald had been bracing himself for this possibility since they had decided to give this a shot. Last night, after he’d stormed out and locked himself in the bathroom, he’d suffered through a five minute panic attack, breath scrambling in his lungs, terrified that the dreaded moment had finally arrived. 

“I’ve been thinking about our fight all day,” Jim said, lowering his gaze to their joined hands. “I called off of work.”

What?

“Just so you could think about us?”

“I had to. If I went to work, I was just going to keep avoiding it and I’d probably have still been mad when I got back and not seeing things straight and I didn’t… I needed to clarify some things to myself. I’m not sure I’ve got it all sorted out, but… Well… I thought of this. A little cheesy, I know, but I want you to know that I want this. Here. With you. I’m not going anywhere if you don’t want me to.”

His eyes were steady on Oswald’s as he spoke, his free hand rising to cup the back of his head. Oswald smiled, a slow, steady smile that warmed him up more surely than the flames crackling softly beside them. Jim smiled, too, relief shining in his eyes as Oswald touched his cheek, rubbing his soft skin with his thumb.

“As far as shows of commitment go,” he said, “this might be my favorite.”

Jim raised their joined hands, kissing the back of Oswald’s.

“So you forgive me?”

Forgive him? In their time knowing each other, Jim had committed many injuries needing forgiveness, but he had rarely asked for it. Not until he had started holding Oswald like he was a precious thing that he couldn’t bear to stop touching.

“I’m in bed with you, aren’t I?” Oswald said, leaning their foreheads together for a moment. “Do you also forgive me?”

“What I said was far worse.”

“It was still bad.”

“But true.”

“You said some true things, too.”

“Let’s just stick with we fucked up and, yes I forgive you. Why else would I have gotten a giant dog bed and a small Christmas tree?”

“Good. Let’s forget it for now and enjoy this, then.” Oswald leaned into him again, closing his eyes. “I’m exhausted.”

“Me, too.”

“You took the day off.”

“Mentally. And this bed isn’t light.”

Oswald stroked his hair as a reward.

“Can I nuzzle your belly?” Jim asked after a bit.

“Later. I want to hug you right now.”

````````````````````  
Epilogue

Sometime later, after the warmth of Jim’s body and the gentle crackling of the cozy fire made his mind drift and somnolence ooze through his limbs, Oswald acquiesced to Jim nuzzling his belly. It was one of his favorite cuddling activities. Jim slid down under the blankets and placed his face on Oswald’s stomach, nudging it gently with his nose. Oswald pushed the blankets off so that he could breathe, arranging them so that they covered both their backs, and draped his right leg over Jim’s back. Jim rubbed his outer thigh for a second, then grabbed the hem of Oswald’s shirt with his hand, a quiet plea for permission, which Oswald accepted by not saying no, so Jim lifted his shirt halfway up his torso. Oswald’s skin balked at the sudden chill, but Jim swiftly warmed him back up by rubbing his face on him like a cat, caressing with his cheeks and forehead to and fro, raining a small kiss here and there. He wrapped his arms snuggly around Oswald’s waist, hands slipping up Oswald’s bare back. Oswald cupped his head in his hands, brushing through his wonderfully soft hair and slid one hand under Jim’s shirt and down his spine, massaging his flesh with soft strokes. His eyes remained closed, soul afloat on nothing but the crackle of the burning logs, the softness of the cushions under him, and the warm comfort of Jim wrapped around him.


End file.
